


Wild(e) About You

by sidewinder



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Literature, M/M, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7458505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What can I say, I’m a slut for a man who gives good iambic pentameter.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild(e) About You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThetaSigma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/gifts).



Nothing turned John Munch on more than an active mind.

Of course he had a fine appreciation for that mind being wrapped up in attractive packaging as well—and be that packaging of the male or female variety, he didn’t particularly care. But someone who could challenge him mentally as well as sexually was someone who always got his motor running.

It was just like he’d told that therapist one day, some not-so-few years before: how sexy was it to find a beautiful woman with a library card?

Or better still, how hot was a man with a badge and an ability to make mention of classic literature and authors in casual conversation?

_“Wilde, as in Oscar.”_

Fin didn’t know it, not to this day now many years on, but that off-hand remark had been the precise instant when John’s interest in his new partner had shifted from muted curiosity to all-cylinders firing lust. Fin had thrown out that comment with a easy familiarity that, truthfully, had rivaled John’s own penchant for literary references. And those words had traveled straight from John’s ears to his dick.

Suddenly he'd needed to know more about Odafin Tutuola…if not everything that made him tick, then at least what books found home in his oft-mentioned small apartment.

Naturally, in time, John got the chance to find out…

 

________________________

_May 2001…_

The two detectives were on stakeout outside a suspect’s Brooklyn condo, but it had ended up a fruitless, dull night of waiting for any signs of activity or visitors. By three a.m. they had only been rewarded them with one pizza delivery to record in their logs and sore backsides from sitting too long. The lights eventually went off in the condo and it was clear nothing would happen here until the next day.

If anything ever happened at all. As certain as they were that Martin Sankus was somehow connected to a recent series of sexual assaults in this neighborhood, the man wasn’t acting like someone guilty of a crime beyond the lack of any kind of social life.

“So this has been a complete waste of precious hours of potential sleep,” John said with a yawn and the best stretch he could manage in Fin’s cramped passenger seat. It had been a tedious evening, unable to even read the paper, a book, or try to do a crossword puzzle because of the need to sit in darkness or else potentially be noticed. Fin hadn’t been in the most talkative mood either, cutting short most of John’s attempts to engage in conversation. That had left John with an uncomfortable amount of quiet time to brood and think, conscious every second of the man sitting close next to him—and what it would be like to get even closer.

That was something he thought about too much these days, quite honestly. This wasn’t the first time he’d nursed an attraction for one of his partners, but it was the first time those feelings were starting to make it difficult to always concentrate on the job as he knew he should. It didn’t help that Fin was extremely tight-lipped about his personal life—if he was seeing anyone, if he was _interested_ in seeing anyone, if he was only interested in the female sex or if, as John suspected, he might be a bit of a closet case and that's why he was so secretive about his hours outside of work.

“Yeah, time to call it a night.” Fin turned the key and the car’s engine rumbled to life.

“Drop me off at Grand Army Plaza, can you?” John asked.

“You headin’ all the way home at three a.m.?”

“Not a chance. By the time I’d get there, I’d just have to turn right around and get ready for work again. Going to catch the 2 train to the Sixteenth and crash for a couple hours in the crib.”

“Ain’t gotta do that. Why don’t you crash on my sofa instead?” John cast a curious glance toward Fin, who merely shrugged and continued, “My place is only about ten minutes from here. Nothin’ fancy, but my sofa’s better than those flimsy-ass cots at the precinct.”

“If that’s all right with you…thanks.” John tried to play it cool, but he was really more than pleased with the prospect of finally getting a chance to see Fin’s place.

“’Course. Hope you ain’t a loud snorer.”

“I’ve never had any complaints.”

The drive to Fin’s place was quick at this hour, with very light traffic and parking available only a block away. John found the apartment much as Fin had described it to him in the past: not much bigger than a cracker box, the living room mostly taken up by an oversized entertainment center and large, black leather sofa.

“Be it ever so humble?” John quipped as he handed Fin his jacket to hang up.

“Sorry it’s not the Ritz Carlton. I’ll get you a blanket. One pillow or two?”

“One’s fine.”

“Be right back.”

Fin disappeared into the bedroom while John sat down on what turned out to be an extremely comfortable sofa, kicking off his shoes and undoing his tie. While he was pretty damn tired, he was also curious to take a look around…be nosy, if he dared. The shelves of the entertainment center were mostly filled with video game cases and consoles—no books, which was a bit disappointing. The only reading material in easy reach was a pile of gaming magazines on the coffee table. No photos of family or anyone else hung on the walls, nothing to give away too much personality or interests other than a passion for shooting up imaginary bad guys.

Fin came back in a couple minutes with the promised pillow and blanket. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

“Gonna take a quick shower before crashing. You need to use the bathroom first?”

“No, I’m good,” John replied. “Might grab a glass of water from the kitchen.”

“There’s a pitcher of filtered water in the fridge. Better than the tap. Should be glasses on the dish rack.”

“Okay. ’Night, Fin. I do appreciate this.”

“No big deal. Night.”

Fin went to the bathroom and closed the door. John undid the buttons to his dress shirt, wanting to take it off and fold it neatly so it wouldn’t look too horrible tomorrow at work. He heard the shower start up, and although he was seriously ready to sleep, he also couldn’t resist taking a bit of a sneak about while Fin was otherwise occupied.

He was, after all, a detective. And that’s what detectives did.

Quietly he got up and made his way to Fin's bedroom. It, too, was small and cramped with more furniture than the room was designed to fit: a queen sized bed, dresser for clothes… _and here it is_ , John thought with a smile to himself. One very large and very full bookcase. Fin had left the light on in the bedroom after going there for the blanket and pillow, so John went straight over to the bookcase to see what he would find.

Simply scanning over the titles and names on the book spines was enough to get him hard. Wilde, of course, as expected. Poe, Dumas, Conan Doyle…“complete works” of Milton, Shelly, Byron…Shakespeare. A fine assortment of classics, and gauging by the creases on the paperbacks and condition of the hardcovers they were well-read and not simply there for decoration. On another shelf he spied Du Bois, Booker T. Washington, the collected poems and short stories of Langston Hughes. He found some lighter reading, too, on the lower shelves...an assortment of mystery paperbacks but quality authors like Hillerman and Mosley, not best seller pablum that junked up so many bookstore shelves these days.

John was so absorbed with in exploring Fin’s book collection that he never noticed the shower stop running. In fact he had zoned out on everything other than the bookshelf until Fin entered the bedroom and startled him by exclaiming, “Munch, what the hell are you doin’?”

John jumped a little, then flushed with embarrassment and then…well. Fin was standing there shirtless, in only his boxer shorts and with a silk scarf around his hair. John summoned every ounce of his willpower not to grab the man right then and there and yank him onto the bed. He needed a few uncomfortable moments to simply get his brain working enough to give some kind of hopefully reasonable excuse. “Just, ah…looking for some light reading material.”

“It's almost four in the morning.”

"I know, but a good book is sure to lull me right to dreamland. Some…poetry, perhaps?” he mused, running his fingers over the volumes on one shelf.

Fin shook his head and walked away, heading round to the other side of the bed. “You’re crazy, man. Take whatever you want; I’m goin’ to sleep.”

John sighed. He really _was_ too worked up to get any rest so maybe he would grab a book to page through until his eyes glazed over. Lying down with one of Fin's books wouldn't be as good as lying down with Fin, but it would have to suffice. “What’s your favorite poem, Fin?” he asked, curious to get one simple answer out of him tonight.

“What?”

“I'm sure you have one, given the breadth of your collection."

"It's late and I’m tired and I’m regretting letting you crash here if you don’t let me get to sleep.”

“Humor me.”

"Humor you. Humor my ass." Fin sighed and walked back around the bed to stand next to John at the bookshelf, eyes scanning the various titles.

“You need help finding it?”

“No. I got this one memorized.” He turned to look at John, his expression devoid of annoyance now but completely serious. Fin began, speaking slowly to give weight to each word:

“I loved my friend.  
He went away from me.  
There is nothing more to say.  
The poem ends,  
Soft as it began, —”

Fin paused, and reached up to touch John’s cheek. “I loved my friend.”

As if Fin’s touch didn’t fry John’s senses, his words were like an electric shock. He stood stunned and unable to move, to react, for a long held breath, until Fin let his hand slip away and John couldn't be denied that contact again, not now. He grabbed Fin and kissed him, forcefully and on the lips, determined to get his _own_ message across.

It only took seconds for Fin’s shock to fade, and then his hands were on John’s waist, his lips parting and responding with hunger to the kiss.

“I need you. Now, Fin,” John whispered harshly. Months of wondering, fantasizing, dreaming, he couldn’t take it any longer. He wanted to kiss and lick and taste every inch of that body, but right now he really wanted Fin’s cock, needed to prove how much he hungered for this incredible man.

John wasted no time for protests, for second thoughts. He dropped to his knees, yanking down Fin’s underwear as he did so. The prize that he coveted awaited him there, nestled in dark curls still damp from his shower.

“Jo— _oh!_ ” Fin didn’t even get his name out before it dissolved into moan, as John reached to touch and caress him, admiring for a moment before going in for a taste. Even soft, Fin was impressive, a promise there of more to emerge with the proper encouragement John was happy to provide. John leaned in to lick at the flesh, so smooth on his tongue, then wrapped his lips over the head and sucked. He moaned around that cock, loving how he felt it stirring to life, swelling and stiffening quickly from his administrations. His tongue probed at the sensitive groove while his hand went to Fin’s balls, fondling, enjoying the feel of them.

“Oh shit that’s… _fuck_.” One of Fin’s hands landed in John’s hair, caressing, encouraging without being forceful. Not that John would have minded that. A pulse of throbbing desire ran through him at imagining Fin using him like that, fucking his mouth, demanding satisfaction. Ah, maybe next time. It was hot enough showing that he knew how to please without needing to be given direction.

A slightly salty taste fell upon his swirling tongue. Fin was so hard at this point it was like hot steel in John’s mouth. He willed himself to relax, to take in that glorious cock and try to swallow it whole. A few efforts and he nearly had it, while he gripped Fin’s legs to hold on and steady himself. Fin started cursing, his words punctuated by his jerking hips, failed attempts to not thrust into John’s mouth. And then, far too soon, John tasted the hot salty spurts hitting the back of his throat, swallowed them down before he choked.

He savored the rewards for his efforts, sucking and licking Fin until he regretfully had nothing left to give. He pulled back and looked up at Fin and grinned stupidly to see the look of pure bliss and release on his face. And the look he gave John in return was nearly enough to make him blow his load in his pants—although he hoped Fin might grant him more relief than that.

John carefully got to his feet—his knees weren’t what they used to be for doing this kind of thing—and yelped in surprise as Fin pulled him roughly to the mattress, pushing him down onto it.

“My turn,” Fin said, covering John's mouth with his own for a deep, probing kiss. A lot of other guys John had been with weren’t so interested in post-blowjob kisses, but Fin seemed to be reveling in it, and John didn’t mind one bit. “I taste good on you.”

“I bet you feel good in me, too.”

“I bet you’re right. But right now this is all for you.”

Fin proved his point by quickly moving down, undoing the belt and fly of John’s pants to pull them off. John obliged happily, pulling his t-shirt up over his head so he would enjoy the feeling of Fin’s touch all over his body. His mouth, too, kissing his stomach, licking at a hip bone, teasingly avoiding his aching erection until he was swearing and begging for it.

“Fuck, Fin, please…”

“Mmm, want some of this?” Fin ran his tongue up the underside of John’s erection, base to tip, then circled the head.

“Jesus H. Christ on a rubber crutch, Fin, would you just oh _FUCK_.” The last came out as Fin sucked down on him, and John almost came from the sudden blissful shock of that wet heat enveloping his cock. He definitely wasn’t going to last long, not after the extended torment of his anticipation. And not with the way Fin sucked him off with such skill and obvious pleasure at the act.

Still he tried to hold it together as long as he could, hands grasping at the bedsheet, tugging to keep from thrusting up into that mouth. Fin had one hand at the base of his erection, but then it slid between his legs. A thick, saliva-slick finger slipped inside him, probing and massaging in rhythm with that tongue and lips.

That was it, that was all he wrote, in verse or in prose, in curses or in praise. The orgasm tore through his body, leaving him shaking, shuddering, sighing in utter exhaustion and satisfaction. Fin moved up the bed and John summoned the last of his strength to wrap him up in his arms for another kiss, languorous and slow, sloppy and strong from the combined tastes of their come. When Fin eventually pulled back, he gave John a somewhat embarrassed, awkward smile and simply said, “Um. So.”

“So,” John echoed, then laughed at the absurdity of their situation. “I take it that I haven’t been the only one nursing a bad case of _‘I’ve got a secret’_ the past few months.”

“If I’d have known it would only take a couple lines of poetry to get you on your knees, might have done something about that sooner.”

“What can I say, I’m a slut for a man who gives good iambic pentameter.”

It was Fin’s turn, then, to chuckle softly as he dropped his head to his pillow. “You make me crazy, Munch.”

“And here I thought I drove you Wilde…as in Oscar.”

“I’d ask for you to tell me your favorite poem but damn…I think we have to get up in an hour and you might get me going again instead of catching at least a little bit of sleep.”

“I’m also too brain dead right now to remember it all.” But as he drifted off into wonderful if brief slumbers, John smiled to himself. He would definitely enjoy reading “The Platonic Blow” to Fin, and then reenacting it in glorious detail. He was certain tonight was merely the prologue to many more literary adventures they would share together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The poem Fin quotes is “Poem (To F.S.)” by Langston Hughes. And the poem John mentions at the end is credited to W.H. Auden (with some debate)—and yes, I would just like to imagine John reading that one to Fin some day. (You can read it for yourself [here](http://www.ronnowpoetry.com/contents/auden/PlatonicBlow.html).)


End file.
